What is it about death that bothers me?
Woody Allen’s response, for him, “the hours”.
And if spirit leaves the body, could be
clothes loose fitting; and what about showers.
I add, that can’t get a breath of fresh air,
and no key to those rigor mortis locks.
However, there’s no reason to despair.
Unfeeling, even in those dreadful socks.
In an after-life, won’t be in fit state.
It might be one of those all night parties,
where the drugs don’t work, and there’s no escape.
Dead in the morning; not hale and hearty.
Rottenness, even of jokes, imposing.
Like Mozart, Beethoven; decomposing.